Dearest Pepto, Thank you. You’re lovely. We first met when I barfed at the very top of a moving Ferris wheel. I lost a friend and corn-dog that night. But you were there, in all your pink splendour. I don’t like pink as a colour, but I can certainly drink it. Fast-forward to yesterday. All those emails. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of them. Not counting the actual replies to said emails. Which would be really useful. I can read…
I used to be really good at being alone. When I was single, I was perfectly happy to stay in by myself with only ice-cream, popcorn and my collection of Sandra Bullock movies for company. True story. I would dance and sing around my living-room. One particular Saturday night, I did all of that while drinking Baileys from a pint glass. That was special. OK, maybe that night I wasn’t all that happy to be alone. My point is this.…
Confession time. When I started this blog, I was angry. Angry about uneven pavements that may or may not have dog-shit on them. Angry about inaccessible buildings and accessible toilets being used as storage cupboards. Because, if you keep a damn fridge in there, it becomes inaccessible. Angry about being called a ‘wheelchair’ on the bus, and always having to say: There’s a person in it, too. I wanted to write about all of that, and my boyfriend and my…
Just when you think you’ve gotten through your to-do list, there’s another list. And damn if there isn’t more to do on it. People say that marriage is a marathon and not a sprint. I believe that. I’ve also started to think of wedding-panning as a test of endurance. To get you ready for the marathon. Last week, I failed that test. But I got a lot of reading done. In bed. While drinking coffee and pretending I was 12.…
Picture it: Levittown, 1980-every-summer. A young girl is watching the sun sink lower in the sky and waiting for someone to take her to the carnival down the block. Her grandparents and her father have probably drawn straws. Who gets to hold her hair back this time? Because she’s gonna barf. But she’s too excited to eat. So it’s the dry heaves. And full on gagging, how attractive. And she’s barking. That’s a nervous cough. But she could be doing…
